Chapter 17 #2
"She's surprisingly good at extracting information," Austin said dryly, his arm sliding around my waist.
"I bet she is." Dennis waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "So, Kate, what's it like living with Mr. Clean Freak over here? Has he color-coded your bacteria samples yet?"
I laughed, relaxing slightly. "Actually, I'm the chaotic one. My organizational system is best described as 'controlled explosion.'"
"No fucking way." Dennis looked delighted. "Stone Callahan, living with mess? I need photographic evidence."
"And you won't get it," Austin cut in smoothly. "Where's Sarah tonight?"
"Ditched me for a medical conference," Dennis replied easily. "Said saving lives trumps watching me drink for charity."
As they bantered, I surveyed the room. The event was a sea of designer dresses, expensive suits, and blinding smiles. Hockey wives and girlfriends clustered in glamorous groups, looking like they'd stepped off magazine covers rather than trudged through Minnesota winter.
Self-consciousness crept up my spine. These women had their hair professionally styled, wore makeup that looked effortless but probably took hours, and understood the unwritten social rules of this world.
Meanwhile, I'd had to Google "how to accessorize a cocktail dress" and my hair was already escaping its updo.
"Hey." Austin's voice pulled me back, his fingers squeezing mine gently. "You okay?"
"Just calculating the statistical probability that I'll spill something on this dress before the night ends," I joked.
His eyes softened. "Come on. Time to meet the rest of the team."
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions. Austin stayed by my side, his hand rarely leaving the small of my back as he introduced me to teammates, coaches, and management. To my surprise, most of them seemed genuinely interested when Austin mentioned my research.
"So you're fighting superbugs?" One of the goalies leaned in, fascinated. "Like, actual microscopic supervillains?"
"That's... actually not a terrible analogy," I admitted, warming to the topic. "They're constantly evolving new defenses, like supervillains getting better armor."
"And you're developing weapons to fight them? That's badass."
I caught Austin watching me with undisguised pride as I explained my research in superhero terms to increasingly interested hockey players. Something warm unfurled in my chest—he wasn't just including me in his world; he was genuinely proud of my place in it.
"Austin Callahan, as I live and breathe."
A female voice cut through our conversation. I turned to see a stunning blonde in a skintight red dress approaching, her smile predatory as she focused entirely on Austin.
"Camille," Austin acknowledged, his posture stiffening slightly. "I didn't realize you'd be covering this event."
"I never miss a chance to chat with Minnesota's favorite defenseman." She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, completely ignoring my existence. "Especially now that you're back on the active roster. We should schedule that exclusive interview we discussed."
"I don't recall discussing an exclusive," Austin replied, his tone cooling several degrees.
Camille laughed as if he'd said something charming. "Always so modest. Remember that little celebration after you won the conference finals two years ago? You promised me first interview when you made your comeback."
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. There was clearly history here—the kind that involved champagne and private promises.
"Kate," Austin said, deliberately shifting to include me, "this is Camille Wilson from Channel 9 Sports. Camille, this is Dr. Kate Ellis, my girlfriend."
Camille's eyes flicked over me with the brief disinterest of someone evaluating and dismissing a non-threat. "Charmed. A doctor? Of what, exactly?"
"Microbiology," I replied. "I study antibiotic resistance."
"How... unique." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Austin usually prefers more straightforward company."
I felt rather than saw Austin tense beside me. Before he could respond, a teammate called him over for what appeared to be an urgent conversation with one of the team owners.
"I'll be right back," he said to me, his eyes conveying an apology. "Two minutes, tops."
As soon as he stepped away, Camille's fake smile dropped. "Look, I'm sure you're very smart and all, but some friendly advice? Don't get too comfortable."
I blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. "Excuse me?"
"Athletes like Austin have a type, especially during recovery. The 'something different' girl who makes them feel better about themselves during a rough patch." She sipped her champagne, eyes never leaving mine. "Once he's back in the game—literally—he'll go back to women who understand his world."
My cheeks burned, but something in me refused to retreat. Dr. Barnes's words echoed in my mind: determining whether they are the right partner.
"That's fascinating," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Tell me, does making other women feel insecure usually work well for you professionally? Because scientifically speaking, territorial marking behaviors rarely function effectively outside their evolutionary context."
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. "Cute. But I've known Austin for years. I've seen his patterns."
"And I've been living with him for months, watching him rebuild himself piece by piece." I met her gaze directly. "I know exactly who he is—with or without hockey—and that terrifies you because you only understand the public version."
Camille's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Austin returned, his hand immediately finding the small of my back.
"Everything okay here?" he asked, glancing between us.
"Perfectly fine," I replied, smiling sweetly. "Camille was just explaining some fascinating behavioral patterns to me."
"We'll catch up later, Austin," Camille said, retreating gracefully. "About that interview."
As she walked away, Austin turned to me. "What was that about?"
"Just girl talk," I said lightly. "Apparently I'm not your usual type."
Austin's jaw tightened. "Camille doesn't know anything about what I want."
"And what do you want?" The question slipped out, more vulnerable than I intended.
His eyes softened, his hand sliding to cup my face. "You. Chaos and all."
The rest of the evening passed without incident, but by the time we climbed into Austin's SUV to head home, the encounter with Camille had settled under my skin like an irritant.
"So," I finally said as we drove through the quiet streets, "you and the reporter. Was that a thing?"
Austin's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No. Not the way she implied."
"But there was something?"
He sighed. "One dinner, three years ago, after I'd given her an exclusive about my charity foundation. Nothing happened, but she's been pushing boundaries ever since."
"She seemed pretty familiar with you," I persisted, hating the jealousy coursing through me but unable to stop it.
Austin pulled the car over abruptly, putting it in park before turning to face me fully. "Kate, look at me."
I did, my heart pounding.
"Before you, my life was hockey, recovery, and systematically avoiding complications.
I dated casually, never letting anyone close enough to disrupt my routine.
" His eyes held mine, intensity radiating from him.
"Then you showed up, spilled coffee everywhere, rearranged my kitchen, and somehow became essential to me.
So no, there's nothing between me and Camille or anyone else. There's only you."
"I've never been jealous before," I admitted, embarrassed. "It's unsettling. Like discovering a completely new emotion I didn't have programming for."
His mouth curved into that rare full smile. "You have programming?"
"Shut up," I mumbled, but I was smiling too.
"For what it's worth," he said, voice dropping to that low register that always made my stomach flip, "watching you stand your ground was incredibly sexy."
"Yeah?" I breathed, suddenly very aware of how alone we were in the dark car.
"Yeah." His hand found my knee, fingers skimming along the hem of my dress. "I wanted to drag you out of there right then."
Heat pooled between my thighs as his fingers inched higher, tracing patterns on my inner thigh. "We should probably get home," I whispered.
"Probably," he agreed, making no move to start the car. Instead, his hand slid higher, thumb brushing against the edge of my panties. "Or I could touch you right here."
My breath caught. "We're on the side of the road."
"No one can see us." His voice was rough with want as his fingers pushed aside the thin fabric, finding me already wet. "Fuck, Kate."
I gasped as he slid one finger inside me, then two, his thumb circling my clit with devastating precision. "Austin—"
"I love watching you like this," he murmured, his eyes never leaving my face as his fingers worked their magic. "So responsive, so perfect."
I was already close, embarrassingly so, when a sharp knock on the window made us both freeze.
A flashlight beam swept the interior of the car, illuminating Austin's hand still between my thighs and my mortified expression.
"Everything all right in there?" called a stern voice as Austin hastily withdrew his hand and rolled down the window to reveal a police officer peering suspiciously into the car.
"Yes, officer," Austin replied with remarkable composure. "Just pulled over to... discuss something important with my girlfriend."
The officer's flashlight lingered on Austin's face, recognition dawning. "You're Austin Callahan."
"Yes, sir."
"Big fan," the officer said, his stern expression melting slightly. "But maybe find somewhere more private for your... discussions. This isn't the safest place to be parked at night."
"Absolutely. Thank you, officer," Austin replied smoothly.
As the officer walked away, we sat in stunned silence for a moment before bursting into simultaneous laughter.
"Oh my god," I gasped, burying my face in my hands. "Did we just get caught like teenagers?"
"Yep," Austin said, starting the car with a grin I'd never seen before—totally unrestrained, almost boyish.